


Four Letter Words

by Reccea



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reccea/pseuds/Reccea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You keep saying it, and one of these days you'll actually mean it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Letter Words

**1\. When he can blame xenolinguistics (and Jim Kirk)**

Jim sets his overflowing tray down on the table and takes the bench across from Bones. "Hey."

Bones is using his fork to separate the bits of onion from his potato salad so he doesn't look up when he says, "Hey," back. A PADD is thrust right under his chin, forcing him to abandon his mission. He drops the fork and takes the PADD. There is a single line of text, definitely not English, but using the English alphabet. "The hell is this?"

"Something for my xenolinguistics class with Commander Tully." Jim spears the onions on Bones's plate and relocates them to his own. "Would you mind reading that out loud for me?"

Bones stares at him, waiting for the inevitable catch, but Jim seems pretty engaged in mixing the extra onions into his potato salad. Bones looks back down to the PADD and sounds out the line as best he can.

"That first 'a' should be hard, but that was pretty good," Jim says around a mouthful of food. "How about with more.... oomph."

"Jim, seriously." Bones holds the PADD out for Jim to take back.

Jim swallows his food and says, "Seriously, please," like he actually might need help.

Bones sighs deeply and says the line again – with a hard 'a' – forcefully, as if he's asking for an instrument in the middle of surgery.

Jim's mouth twists to the side. "Okay, no. How about lightly, maybe. Like... huh. Okay, how _do_ you sound when you're not pissed off?"

Bones stares at him and then says the line of text in as pissed off a voice as he can manage because he's about to throw his fork at Jim Kirk's face.

Jim's eyes go wide. Bones thinks – hopes – for a moment that the tone may have actually made a dent in Jim Kirk's shield of unstoppable good humor but then Jim grins widely and says, "Say it _exactly_ like that. Right _now_."

There's a young female cadet approaching their table and Bones doesn't really need more than a second to realize that she must be the object of this stupid little show. He says it again, and actually manages to throw a bit more emotion behind it. The cadet's face falls and she ducks her head before she files past their table towards the exit.

Jim isn't even looking at her. He's staring at Bones, expression gleeful. "That was actually kind of hot, Bones."

Leonard McCoy knows that he has absolutely been had. "What the hell is going on?"

Jim uses his fork to fish out the remaining onions from Bones's plate. "That was Illuna from the Xenolinguistics club. She's a great girl, really sweet. Waiting for marriage kind of sweet. So I figured the best way of letting her down easy was not to have to let down at all."

With growing horror, Bones forces himself to ask, "Jim, what in hell did I just say?"

Jim smiles his biggest, brightest smile. The smile he gives grandmothers and kittens and top of the curve papers. The effect is ruined slightly by the piece of potato at the corner of his mouth. "You just told me you loved me. In Andorian."

"You are a fucking piece of work, Jim Kirk." Bones grabs his fork and points it viciously in Jim's general direction.

Jim doesn't even blink. "You gonna finish your pie?"

 

**2\. When he can blame social customs (and Jim Kirk)**

Bones looks between Spock, resolutely not on the transporter platform, and Jim, on the platform and glaring at Spock. Bones rolls his eyes. Just what he needed, a goddamned pissing match. "Should I come back?"

Jim shoots him a look, mouth a flat line.

Spock folds his hands behind his back. "The relationship between the Woyarum and the Federation is tentative at best. Our actions may greatly affect any future treaties."

Jim folds his arms across his chest. "I know, Spock. I read the report and I listened to your briefing. I won't touch any of them. No handshakes, no shoulder claps, no elbowing. I promise." Jim's serious tone must satisfy Spock's concerns because he relents and takes his place on the pad.

"If it's that sensitive a trip, I can just stay here." Bones waves at the doors. The two security lieutenants behind Jim exchange looks.

"Get up here, Bones." Jim narrows his eyes.

Spock inclines his head towards McCoy. "Perhaps the doctor's suggestion has some merit."

"Now," Jim snapped.

Bones grins as he climbs onto the platform. "Sure thing, Jim."

"Oh, just you wait," Jim mutters darkly, He looks over at the console. "We're ready, Scotty,"

The location they beam down to is the flat of a small, lush valley. The grass is knee high, bluish-grey, slightly sticky, and just about the only thing in sight. Except the group of four Woyarum standing near the mouth of the valley, visible despite their small stature due to the foot high hats they wore.

"You should bring Nyota back a hat," Jim tells Spock as he heads confidently in the Woyarum's direction. Bones takes up his place to Jim's left and Spock falls in on Jim's right. The two lieutenants from security bring up the rear.

When they get within spitting distance, the Woyaru at the front of the group bows his head. "We welcome you to Woyaru, representatives of Starfleet." He speaks in a series of clicking noises that take Bones a moment to process into the words.

"Thank you for your generous welcome." Jim returns the head bow that Bones has seen him practice here and there over the last week. "I'm Captain Kirk, this is Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy and Lieutenats Choi and Breuth." Jim uses his full hand to indicate each member of the party.

"We are of Vihash," the Woyaru says, indicating the small group. Bones remembers something about individual names being reserved for familial use but he can't remember if they go by their place of origin or their place in the class structure. He doesn't suppose it matters much at the moment.

"We shall take you to our High Council to begin negotiations." The Woyarum make a synchronized turn and file out of the valley. Jim gives Bones a smile as they follow.

In the distance, the capital city of Woyaru towers above the plain, a series of sharp spires and circled walls. The grass is higher now that they've left the valley, about to the middle of Bones's thigh and quite dense. The stickiness makes it feel like they're wading through water.

Jim stumbles mid-step, pitching forward, arms thrown out in front of him.

Bones's hand shoots out instinctively, catching Jim by the elbow. He helps Jim right himself and it's only when he notices the silence that his brain catches up with his reflexes. He drops Jim's arm like it burns and looks at their hosts with a sinking feeling in his chest.

The Woyarum are staring at them. Touching's the worst taboo on the planet and he broke it all because these guys never bothered to invent lawnmowers.

"That wasn't—" Bones cuts himself off when he realizes that he has no idea what he should say.

"He meant no disrespect," Jim plasters on his best 'we're totally harmless' face.

Spock cuts in smoothly. "We are aware of your laws. The doctor acted in accordance to them."

The head Woyaru flicks his eyes between Jim and Bones uncertainly.

Jim smiles winningly. Spock eyes McCoy so he smiles near as big as Jim does, saying, "Absolutely," even though he has no idea what exactly he's agreeing with.

The Woyarum break into a small conference of clicks and whistles, none of which make any sense to Bones at all.

Spock takes a small step backwards, to line himself up with Bones, and says very quietly, "I assure you, Doctor, the social mores of this culture are quite strict."

Bones stares at him blankly, racking his brain trying to remember the specifics of the briefing. The only people who could touch in public were-- "Right," Bones says, resigned.

"Doctor McCoy," one of the Woyaru in the back of the group speaks, this one wearing a pale blue hat with gold embroidery. "Is your relationship with Captain Kirk elevated?"

Bones sucks it up and says exactly what he's supposed to. "I'm in love with him, yeah."

Jim's smile widens impossibly and he opens his mouth to say something. Spock arches an eyebrow sharply and McCoy's suddenly pretty clear on what the Vulcan version of _shut the hell up_ looks like. Jim snaps his mouth shut.

The Woyarum confer again. Bones shoots Spock a look, concerned that maybe he'd fucked that up somehow, but Spock is staring determinedly ahead.

The Woyaru that greeted them originally steps away from the group again. "We thank you, delegates, for respecting our ways. And we will respect yours. Captain, you and your Beloved will be allowed to caress within our cities. It is acceptable to us that your express your elevation."

"Thank you," Jim says promptly.

The Woyarum smile in unison, looking relieved as far as Bones can tell. They turn back around and continue their journey to the city without another word.

Spock surveys Bones and Jim. "I suggest you accept the Woyarum's generous offer. To do otherwise would be considered a great offense." He turns and follows the Woyarum briskly.

"He's totally pissed," Jim says, tone caught somewhere between amusement and surprise.

Bones sighs. "You did that on purpose."

Jim wraps his hand around Bones's, threading their fingers together. He leans in close, bumping their shoulders, and says cheerfully, "Try not to look like you're going to throw up on me."

 

**3\. When he can blame drugs (and Jim Kirk)**

Bones takes the tea from the bowing Chikth, Phviolo, while Spock excuses Jim's tardiness. Being stuck in a holo conference with Admirals Barnett and Pike is a pretty good excuse, actually, but the Chikth were notoriously adamant about timeliness.

Phviolo asks, "You have all been tested for the appropriate allergies?" while handing Uhura and Spock their cups.

The Chikth had beamed up food and drink samples for testing that morning, which is something Bones is thinking about asking for before every treaty negotiation. It's damned polite, is what it is. "Our captain won't be able to eat your food but the rest of the team tested negative," Bones answers.

"That is unfortunate, of course," Phviolo wobbles her head, "but we appreciate your honesty and trust that your captain will accord himself respectfully during his time here."

Spock bows his head toward Phviolo. "Of course." For being a Vulcan his voice has a tone that sounds remarkably to McCoy like 'it's pretty damned rude to infer otherwise.'

Phivolo doesn't seem to notice the tone. She sets aside the tray and holds her own mug aloft in the space between them. Bones, Spock, and Uhura raise theirs in kind.

"May our meeting bear fruit and friendship," Phivolo says.

They repeat after her and then all four drink from their mugs. The tea smells faintly of citrus but it tastes like spearmint and Bones decides he likes it well enough.

"Talks will begin shortly." Phivolo picks the tray back up, nodding to them and shuffling towards the door. Before she steps through she turns her long torso around to look at them. She says gravely, "We believe civility is the single most important aspect to trade negotiations."

The doors slides shut behind her and, uneasy, Bones says, "Well that was _pleasant_." It isn't what he meant to say. He meant to say it was weird.

"Really, Doctor?" Spock asks. "I found it most _exceptional_." His eyebrows furrow as soon as he finishes.

"Don't you mean _polite_." Uhura slaps a hand to her mouth, her expression abruptly concerned.

"I didn't mean pleasant I meant-" _fucking weird_ "really _enjoyable_." McCoy snaps his mouth shut and breaks out his tricorder because hell if losing control of his own words is normal. "I'm getting abnormal readings from Broca's area, all right."

"Given the timing, it is likely that the tea we consumed contains agents to affect our neurological responses." Spock holds his cup out, still a quarter full.

McCoy scans Uhura and Spock, coming up with comparable readings. "That's--" _ridiculous_ "brilliant.They want us to negotiate a treaty saying things we don't mean."

"Civility is the single most important aspect to trade negotiations," Uhura quotes grimly.

Bones read the brief on the negotiations. He focused mainly on the medical technology at the heart of the trade, but he's _sure_ he would've remembered any references to mandatory biological agents. "Oh, I'll show them civility."

"It is unlikely that a show of _pleasure_ would benefit the negotiations," Spock hedges closer to the door, effectively blocking McCoy's access to it.

"Are you," _out of your mind_ "_quite clear_, man? We" _can't_ "_can_ negotiate like this."

"Correct," Spock nods. "However, the captain, being unable to consume their food, should be free of the effects."

"You want the captain to negotiate?" Uhura's insult wasn't in the words, just implied.

"I believe it is the best course of action."

Uhura singles McCoy out with a look and he just shrugs because, unless he manages to get back to the ship and discover an antidote in the next few minutes, they're pretty well out of options.

"We could still" _call the whole thing off_ "_change our minds_," McCoy says.

Before Spock or Uhura can reply, the door opens.

Jim comes in, eyebrows furrowed and looking about the way McCoy feels. "Did I do something to piss them off? Because I think I just got told to play nice with the other kids. And outside of a few rare occasions –that, yeah, all of you have been around for – I'm actually pretty good at playing nice. Right Nyota?"

Uhura narrows her eyes, "You are the _most amazing man_ I have ever worked with."

Jim stops short, right eyebrow skewing upwards.

"You are without equal," Spock agrees evenly.

Jim pulls out his phaser. "Okay, that's just not fair. This is the one mission where I didn't come prepared for mind control."

"We're not under mind control, Jim," McCoy says flatly. "We've been" _drugged_ "_inoculated_."

Jim doesn't lower his phaser. "I don't think that means what you think that means."

"It appears that an ingredient in Chikth ceremonial tea prohibits those who ingest it from saying anything that could be construed as _positive_," Spock attempts to explain.

Jim tilts his head at Spock, visibly trying to work out what he'd said.

Bones shoves his tricorder towards Jim's free hand. Jim takes it, then backs further away from them all to check out the readings. After a minute, Jim narrows his eyes dubiously. "They drugged you. To be nice to me."

"To everybody," Bones corrects.

"Sure," Jim agrees, "but can I just point out that you apparently have to be _drugged_ to be nice to me."

Spock turns to face the window. "Your appreciation of the gravity of the situation is commendable, Captain."

"I always knew you were using logic to tell me off," Jim says smugly.

"You are such a _brilliant man_." Uhura folds her arms over her chest and Bones has to appreciate her ability to make anything sound insulting with just the right emphasis.

Jim snickers and then coughs to try to cover it up. "So, okay."

"Starfleet indicated that these negotiations were a high priority and it would wise to continue, if possible."

McCoy's about ninety percent sure that Spock's managed to change his word selection process to lessen the tea's impact. It's damned annoying.

"Yeah, Pike and Barnett really stressed that before I came down here." Jim worries at his bottom lip. "They didn't mention the drugged up negotiators thing, though. And I'm going to have to say a big 'no' to drinking the crazy tea."

"You're allergic, Jim," McCoy points out.

A grin spreads slowly across Jim's face. "So, they can't do anything to me."

"The Chikth might ask you to _return to_ the Enterprise if you don't _maintain civility,_" Uhura points out.

"Yeah, but that's only if I say something out of line." Jim waggles a finger at her. "Which I don't think is going to happen."

"Jim, we know you." McCoy's surprised that his words didn't come out completely mangled because he really didn't mean that in a positive way.

Jim rolls his eyes. "I can keep my mouth shut. At least until things go south."

Spock and Uhura exchange looks and then glance at McCoy. McCoy shrugs because he knows Jim can keep his tongue but he sure doesn't always choose to.

Jim circles the small room. "Obviously we need a plan of attack."

"It would be welcome if you would refrain from using _peaceful_ language," Spock points out.

Jim blinks, just a half second's thought, and then he nods. "Stop sounding like a warrior, start sounding like a negotiator. Got it."

Uhura's mouth twists and it's pretty obvious that she's trying to come up with a positive way to say what she's thinking. "I still think returning might be better?"

Spock shakes his head. "It is still possible that our goals can be accomplished if the Captain can prevent any… complications."

"You do the talking, I'll do the objecting," Jim smiles at Spock the way he always does before he follows Spock's plan.

"You'll always know when to _agree_?" McCoy's pleased with the level of sarcasm he fits into the sentence.

"I think the minute any of you start sweet-talking people, it'll be a pretty big clue," Jim says, like he thinks they're all being idiots.

Uhura shakes her head, her ponytail making a graceful arc behind her. "Captain."

"Come on, it'll be great," Jim says, clearly already sold on the plan. "You guys can play good cop and I'll make sure you don't agree to anything if you're too pissed off to say no."

Spock nods firmly at Jim, "I believe the plan may be sufficient."

Jim smirks. "What you saying is, that I'm awesome. Good to know."

The five minute warning chime rings out across the room.

"We should make our way to the assembly room," Spock says. Jim waves for him to lead the way and Spock exits the room, followed closely by Uhura, who's schooling her expression into something that doesn't promise violence.

"This is gonna be fun." Jim throws his arm around Bones's shoulder as they leave the room. "I bet you'll say more nice things to me today than you've said in the last five years."

"I love you," Bones says nastily.

Jim smiles weakly, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden, and Bones is pretty damn pleased that his ability to threaten clearly hasn't been affected at all.

**4\. When he only has himself to blame (and Jim Kirk)**

"I need to sit," Bones digs his fingers into Jim's shoulder and tries to steady his breathing.

"Yeah, okay," Jim tightens his grip on McCoy's side, turning his head to survey the terrain. He nods his head towards a small outcropping of rocks "There might be a cave over there, or at least shade."

"Shade would be good," Bones grunts. Jim shifts, getting a better grip on the arm McCoy has wrapped around his shoulder, and bracing even more of Bones's weight against his body. They shuffle slowly under the heat of the midday sun. Jim's body is sweaty against his and it makes Bones want to laugh a little because this wasn't the way he'd wanted to feel that.

It takes them probably five minutes to get to the first bit of shade and probably there are really caves deeper in, but McCoy's leg is on fire and he just can't go further without resting a little. "Here, here," he urges, blinking at the sweat in his eyes.

Jim grunts affirmative, and turns them so Bones can brace himself against the cool wall of stone. Bones pulls his arm free of Jim's shoulders, and slowly eases himself down to sit.

Jim leans back against the wall and wipes his arm across the sweat on his forehead. "How's the leg?"

"Still broken" McCoy says wryly. The fracture in his right tibia is searing and the rest of him isn't doing so well either. His arms are aching from the strain of bracing himself against Jim and his left leg is quivering from holding most of his weight.

Jim shoots him a look. "You know what I mean."

Bones closes his eyes and tips his head back, damp hair soaking in the cold from the stone. "I don't know how much further I've got in me."

Jim rests a hand on McCoy's head, fingers dancing lightly through his hair. "Not giving up on me, are you, Bones?"

Bones smiles tiredly. "You're not that lucky. I'm just demanding better service."

Jim snorted. "I've never had complaints about my ability to _service_, Bones."

McCoy flips Jim off.

Jim laughs, pushing himself off the wall. "I'm going to look around, see if there's any water."

"Do you know what kind of bacteria there is in untreated water?" McCoy doesn't bottle his horror.

"I won't drink any without your express approval," Jim smirks. "I won't be gone long, but remember: shoot anything that isn't me."

Bones pulls his phaser out of its holster, holds it up for Jim to see as the other man heads out. Bones mutters, "like there's anything to shoot on this godforsaken dustball."

"Never can be too careful," Jim calls back and then he's out of sight.

Jim's gone for more than hour, which is a damn long time for Bones to be left alone with his only his mental catalogue of possible deaths for company. He hears Jim before he sees, familiar breathing and shift of gravel underfoot. Jim comes around the outcropping, face red with exertion, but he's smiling all the same.

"Find an oasis?" McCoy asks, amused.

"Better!" Jim comes to a halt beside him. "There's a break in the hills that actually leads _out_ of this damn valley. It's gonna take a while, I mean it's not close, but it's in sight. And as soon as we get beyond these rocks, the Enterprise will be able to pick up our signals again."

"That ship of yours needs better sensors, Jim," Bones tells him.

Jim ignores the comment, holding out both hands out to Bones. "It's going to work," he promises eyes fever bright and worry almost gone from his face.

McCoy succumbs to Jim's enthusiasm and lets himself believe it. He laughs, giddy from the pain and the relief, "I love you, Jim. I really do." He lets Jim pull him up.

Jim presses up against him, heat and the smell of sweat rolling off him. McCoy's leg throbs and there are small stones digging into his back. He lifts his hands, braces them on Jim's shoulders, keeping him close.

"You keep saying it," Jim says in a light voice. "And one of these days you'll actually mean it."

Bones arches an eyebrow. "Get us out of here in one piece and I just might."

Jim's the one laughing now, fisting McCoy's shirt. "Oh, I'm going to get us out of this," he says breathless.

Bones rolls his eyes good naturedly and slips an arm around Jim's shoulder, readying himself to get moving again. "Yeah," he says, "I know you are."

 

**5\. When he can outright blame James T. Kirk**

Getting the grate open without tearing his containment suit was a pain in the ass. (Not as much as trying to tap out instructions on the lab terminal since the gloves were awkward as hell, but it still took McCoy a few minutes.) Jim's red-faced and sweaty when he crawls out of the Jeffries tube and his gold shirt is conspicuously missing. There are scratches on his neck, his mouth is swollen, and there's definitely lipstick smudged across his cheek. Bones tries not to laugh.

Jim glares at him. "I'm not sure what's worse. Spock logically laying out the pros and cons of fucking, Sulu accosting me with plant life, Scotty flat out accosting me, or Uhura asking me to call her Nyota." He leans against the wall, sighing. "No, okay, actually the Nyota thing is definitely the worst. This is just not how I wanted that to go down."

Bones goes back to his small lab station."She finally wants in your pants and you're going to say no."

"I did say no." Jim mutters, coming to look over Bones's shoulder. "Repeatedly."

On one half of the screen the molecular structure of the poison affecting the crew rotates slowly, showing off its wares. The other half of the screen is a flashing series of possible antidotes, each dismissed after a moment's contemplation.

"Didn't figure you'd be so upset with mass adoration, Jim." Bones can't help but tease the man, really. An entire ship full of people clamoring for his love is pretty damn funny, as long as McCoy gets it all sorted out before it gets violent. (And his quick and dirty study of the poison indicates pretty clearly that violence is up and coming.)

"Getting groped by a minor isn't as fun as you'd think." Jim punches his shoulder.

"Chekov groped you?" McCoy spares a glance at Jim, honestly appalled.

"After he stalled the turbolift," Jim rubs the back of his neck. "Why do you think I took the long way to the lab?"

Bones winces in sympathy. "The kid's never going to look you in the eye again."

"It's not like he was the only one," Jim says. "Cupcake, for example, is a better kisser than I'd give him credit for."

Bones shakes his head. "The man has a name, Jim."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim waves him off and points at McCoy's bright orange containment suit. "So, that's why you're not affected."

Bones snorts. "I'm not affected because I know you too damn well to fall for your bullshit."

"Yeah, because Uhura _always_ falls for my bullshit," Jim says quietly.

Bones frowns, uncomfortable with the lines at Jim's mouth and the distress in the set of his shoulders. "I was in the quarantine room, treating Ensign Markham, when the poison was released onto the ship. Damn lucky there was a suit there."

"So, I've got you and Ensign Markham on my side." Jim chuckled.

"Ensign Markham won't be able to move for another few days so I don't think he's going to be much help." The computer beeps and the screen flashes. "Got it!" he announces, pretty well pleased with himself.

"Oh, thank god," Jim claps his shoulder enthusiastically, probably half a step from outright hugging him.

McCoy keys in synthesizing instructions. "If you can rig the computer to let you access the air distribution system from here, we can release it in gas form and get everyone without even leaving the room."

"What would I do without you, Bones?" Jim laughs in obvious relief.

Bones can't help but smile. "I try not to think about it," he grumbles.

Jim squeezes his shoulder one more time before sitting down at the other computer terminal. Bones is concentrating on the synthesizing process so he doesn't really notice the humming sound until it's too late. The light around him begins to change and he jerks his head to look at Jim. Who seems to have gotten the memo the same time Bones did.

"I thought you said you disabled the transporters!" Bones shouts, just before his surroundings change.

"I did!" Jim objects as they rematerialize on the transporter platform, Scotty at the controls, grinning madly. Bones has precisely no weapons on him and the quarantine footie pajamas mean his mobility is kind of shot. He doesn't actually stand a chance when Scott vaults over the controls and jumps him. The fucker has a nasty right hook too.

Bones's back hits the wall and he kicks out, catching Scotty in the knee. Scotty hisses something, it's hard to hear through the damn suit, and then he's got his fists in the material at McCoy's chest and swings him around hit the wall again. Bones gets a punch to the gut in and Scotty clocks him in the chin which is a sharp burst of pain that makes his eyes water. He throws his fists out, catches Scotty in the face but Scotty's got poison amping his adrenaline threefold and this is not going to end well.

There's the blue flash of a stun shot and Scotty slumps against him. Bones pushes him off, head spinning, and sees Jim standing there, with his phaser in hand.

"Sorry about that."

The air smells like magnolias, cloying, over sweet and familiar. Bones coughs, air caught in his throat. His face starts to itch and his lips tingle.

Jim holsters his phaser. "If he got this far then I'm pretty freaked out about what Spock's going to think up."

Bones sits down on the edge of the platform, balance shot and the world twisting drunkenly around him. "We'll figure this out before then," he promises automatically because he's not letting Spock get his hands on Jim.

Jim grabs Scotty under the arms and drags him off the platform. "I can probably transport us back to the lab. Scotty showed me how to operate these things on delay but it's gonna take a moment. And I don't know if we have that long."

"The lab—" Bones blinks hard, taking a deep breath and tries again. "Transporter room's on the same deck as the lab. It's a ways but we might be better off walking."

Jim walks around the console and taps a few times. "Yeah, you might be right."

"Bastard might have booby trapped the transporter anyway." Bones can see it easy enough, his atoms getting scattered across the universe because Scotty's gone and decided to claim what's not his.

Jim pales visibly. "Shit." He backs well away from the transporter console.

"Things are a damn menace," McCoy says, thinking maybe this time Jim will actually listen to him.

"Yeah, we're walking." He comes back to McCoy and hauls up by the arm. "They're really out to get me," he mutters as they leave the room.

"Don't worry, Jim," McCoy reaches out, squeezing Jim's shoulder comfortingly. "I won't let them touch ya."

Jim grinds to a sharp halt. He turns slowly to look at McCoy. "Bones."

"Jim," Bones replies easily. He can feel the warmth of Jim through his thin black sleeve.

Jim's face falls and he reaches for Bones's arm, fingering the gash in the containment suit. He looks… well upset actually. "No no no no no. Damn it." Jim rubs his face roughly. "I can't believe they got to you too."

"I'm not infected," Bones snaps back, downright offended. "Damn it, I've always felt this way about you, you idiot." He's never really felt the need to express it before but Jim needs to know. He needs to know that Bones can't live without him, that they can't ever be parted or—

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, of course you have." He pushes Bones down the hallway. "You just had to joke that you were immune. You said, and I fucking quote, you'd known me too damn well to fall for my bullshit. Well, I'll tell you what's bullshit. _This_ is bullshit."

"Jim—"

"I'm allowed to turn someone down. I'm allowed to say 'no thank you' without it turning into some kind of war. I have a right to say 'I'm not interested—" Jim cuts himself off when he looks at Bones and then he shoves Bones hard on the shoulder. "I'm not talking about you, damn it!"

"I didn't say you were," Bones snaps, shoving Jim back. "I haven't been able to get a word in edgewise since you started talking about how goddamn irresistible you are."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to have a little freak out because everyone on this ship wants to rip my clothes off?"

"Some people," Bones grinds out furiously, "want to do more than that, Jim. Some of us have _feelings_. Some of us give a shit and don't just fall in love at the drop of a hat, okay? So you can take your head out of your goddamned perfect ass, okay?"

Jim stares at him blankly for a moment. Then he lets out a small, hysterical laugh. "When this is over, you are going to be so pissed off."

"Well, I'm plenty pissed off now." Bones takes the hallway to the left, a shortcut to the lab that he knows like the back of his hand.

"You know, I can barely hear you through that ridiculous suit." Jim rolls his eyes.

McCoy's nostrils flare and he reaches for the back seal, undoing the suit and pulling it off and planning on damn well leaving it in the hallway for someone else to deal with. The thing's uncomfortable and large and fuck if he's going to tear Jim a new one when Jim can pretend he can't hear it. "Jim, seriously, listen to me damn it."

Jim arched his eyebrows looking at the suit and then at McCoy. "Oh, I'm listening."

"You're mocking me," McCoy snaps, kicking the last leg of the suit off. "I wait this long to tell you how I feel and you goddamn mock me."

"You were supposed to be helping me," Jim brushes past him. "I was counting on you. Damn Scotty, damn him."

Bones stalks after him, well and truly pissed off now. "You think I'm not gonna help you?"

Jim keeps going, ducking through doors and managing to go the right way without any help at all. "I know when I'm on my own," he mutters darkly.

Bones grabs Jim by the torn collar of his black undershirt and pushes him against the wall, pressing into him and kissing his hard mouth. Jim's lips don't loosen and he doesn't open up under McCoy the way McCoy's always imagined.

"You're a bastard, Jim Kirk," he says against Jim's mouth, frustrated and crazy with the disappointment and lust. He slides a hand under Jim's shirt, feels the coarse hair on his stomach and the smooth skin under it. He presses another kiss but this time Jim's mouth opens shallowly, catching McCoy's bottom lip between his own.

He tastes sour, like hours-old coffee, and his body relaxes against McCoy's, welcoming him closer. He kisses softer than McCoy's been thinking, gentler, his hands sliding up the back of McCoy's neck.

"Bones," Jim murmurs into his mouth, fingers on the collar of McCoy's shirt, blunt nails scraping along his neck. "We have got to disperse that antidote before we do this."

Bones's mouth is a desert, his skin is tingling and he can't stop sliding his hands across Jim's skin. Feeling the way Jim is tilting into him, like they could do this before anything else, like he wants to.

Jim pulls back, head hitting the wall, a flush high on his cheekbones. "Bones, man. Everyone's trying to get a piece of me and they're not gonna wait. I need your help."

"Jim, I—" He slides his hands around to Jim's back, fingering the dip of his spine, tucking his body in even closer until all he feels is Jim's warmth against him.

Jim turns his head, smiles against McCoy's ear. "I'll do anything you want me to, Bones. Everything you want me to, but you have to help me first. I don't want to get interrupted, you know?"

"I—" McCoy blinks hard, tries to remember what his original point was. He presses his mouth against the hard line of Jim's jaw, stubble biting into his lips.

Jim groans and pushes McCoy back, breathing harshly and unsteadily. "Antidote," he says firmly.

McCoy takes a breath, then two, trying to get his heartbeat steady. "Lab's just through there," he points uselessly in the right direction, not even sure his legs will take him that far.

Jim grins, his mouth glinting wetly in the light. He grabs McCoy's arm and pulls him through the door and back into the lab. The computer's been hard at work while they were gone, synthesizing batch after batch for air release.

Jim pushes him toward his chair. "Can you synthesize a few vials for your hypo, in case Spock or Sulu find us? Sulu has a pretty big sword."

McCoy's hackles rise.

Jim runs his thumb over the pulse in McCoy's neck. He smiles at Bones in a way that promises a hell of a lot. Bones will make sure he delivers. "Please?"

Bones taps the directions in and clenches and unclenches his fist while the computer cycles through the process. The hypo dispenser chirps happily and Jim pulls away to open it up. He pulls the first full vial out and lodges it into a hypo. "You're sure this is the antidote, right?" He gives Bones a onceover.

"Yes, I'm sure," Bones replies indignantly. "Now are you going to help me synthesize enough or—"

Jim jams the hypospray into Bones's neck.

Bones lurches away, clapping a hand over the entry point. "What the hell was that?!" He scrambles to get away from Jim.

"Tough love," Jim says.

Bones's vision grays and his feet are suddenly sluggish, dragging across the floor. He backs into one of tables and jars his hip and can't seem to keep his balance and then he's on the floor, just trying to breathe with the room spinning above him.

Jim's face comes into view, eyebrows raised in concern.

Bones blinks a few times and then the blood drains from his face. "Dear god."

Jim smirks.

Leonard McCoy hates his life sometimes, he really does. He covers his face with his hands. "Please kill me."

"No can do, Bones." Jim kicks at McCoy's feet. "You found the cure, now you just have to help me make enough."

"I hate you," Bones pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I think I'm going to throw up."

Jim holds out his hand. "You can throw up and cry yourself to sleep later. Spock's bound to be here any minute and I really don't want to have to try to stick him with the hypospray. Guy can kick my ass."

McCoy narrows his eyes. "I help you and we never talk about this again."

Jim sighs. "It's not that bad, Bones. Did I mention that Chekov serenaded me?"

Bones has to wonder if singing love songs on the bridge is actually more embarrassing than a goddamned love potion making you talk about feelings you actually _have_ but the shipwide communications had been on when Chekov started in on the twentieth century ballads so he takes Jim's hands and lets himself be hauled up.

"Good man," Jim claps him on the back.

"I still might throw up on you," Bones warns, sitting back down at the lab station.

Jim takes the seat next to him, close enough that their knees brush against each other. He says, offhandedly, "Yeah, really, not the worst offer I've had today."

 

**1\. When he doesn't have to say it at all.**

Bones holds up his hand, dragging Kirk's up along with it and points to the chain that binds their wrists tightly together. "This is barbaric."

"Remember when that pregnant lady hit you over the head with the rock? _That_ was barbaric. This is more like a twentieth-century teambuilding exercise." Jim wiggles his fingers.

McCoy looks at him flatly. "Are you enjoying this or something?"

"It's going to be fine, Bones. Don't get so worked up," Jim claps McCoy on the shoulder with his free hand. "I've got a plan."

"A plan," McCoy repeats skeptically. Jim had _not_ had a plan when their communicators had been stolen. Or when they'd been cut off from the rest of the away team. Or when they'd been shot at. Or when they'd been trapped on the wrong side of the bridge. Or when they'd finally gotten captured and dragged into a goddamned dungeon in the basement of a castle. Or when they'd been dosed by a biological agent that took away their ability to bullshit their way out of this.

Jim tips his chin up. "Just because the plan mostly consists of 'Spock to the rescue' doesn't make it a bad plan."

"I take it the serum's kicked in?" McCoy arches an eyebrow.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Jim shrugs. "I'm pretty sure I'd be honest about it either way."

"I told you, it's not a damned truth serum," McCoy repeats for the third time. "It's just gonna make it hard as hell not to say everything you're thinking."

"Truth serum is catchier." Jim snapped his fingers. "You know, we should get some to take back to the Enterprise for Truth or Dare nights."

McCoy rubs his face. "We don't even have Truth or Dare nights."

"Nyota vetoed them, for the record. I was all for it."

"Team-building exercise," McCoy hazards, hating Jim in no small measure.

"It's got to be better than the time Scotty, Checkov and I had to--" Jim cuts himself off, biting his own lip so hard it that small dots of blood well up. He lets a breath out slowly through his teeth and then says, "Yeah, okay, 'say whatever you're thinking' time has officially begun."

"Could be worse," McCoy says automatically, already considering the options.

Jim snorts, "Yeah."

"Could have a giant pincher bug imbedded in your spinal cord, secreting—"

Jim makes a noise of disgust and swats McCoy on the shoulder. "I said 'yeah', Bones. You don't have to go into graphic detail."

"You think that's graphic? You didn't see the thing wriggling its way through –"

Jim slams a hand over McCoy's mouth but it's the hand he's got chained to McCoy's. So McCoy ends up smacking himself right in the eye.

"Damn it, Jim!" He says it loud enough to be perfectly clear through Jim's palm.

Jim lowers his hand. "We need to get you a new catchphrase."

McCoy smacks the hand attached to his. "The hell is a catchphrase?"

Jim traps McCoy's hand in his. "Okay, and you need to brush up on twentieth-century linguistics."

"Right, because in deep space, the important thing is twentieth-century linguistics." McCoy pulls his hand free and looks away from Jim with a roll of his eyes.

Jim picks at the cuffs uselessly, like they haven't already tried to break the damn things for an hour now. "You never know. We've already seen time travel in action."

"Well unless you've got red matter somewhere I don't know about, I think I'll be fine." McCoy grunts and claps his hand around Jim's to make him still. The skin on McCoy's wrist is already beginning to feel raw and he doesn't need Jim pulling and fussing until they both start to bleed.

Jim grabs a pebble from the ground, lobbing it at the cell across from them. "There are other ways to time travel."

"Jim, if I hadn't seen Nero first hand I _still_ wouldn't believe there was even the one way."

The second pebble Jim throws manages to skirt past the bars of the cell across from them and the third pebble bounces off the foot of the skeleton still chained up to the wall, old enough that the skin and sinew are all but gone. "There's a theory," Jim says, "an actual scientific theory, not a bullshitting around the dorm theory – that time travel could be achieved by a high warp slingshot around the sun."

McCoy snorts. "That is such bullshit."

"It isn't!" Jim protests, managing to sound both offended and sincere. "I swear it's – okay actually it's a hypothesis - but I didn't make it up."

"How the hell is flying around the sun supposed to send you back in time?" McCoy scoffs. "And, hell, if it were possible, people'd have been going back in time since the minute we got into—"

There's a loud boom in the distance and the cell floor pitches under them. McCoy doesn't quite catch the bars in time and goes down hard on the rolling earth. Jim's fall is even less elegant, wrenched down by one hand to sprawl on top of Bones, head knocking Bones's chin.

Jim curses and Bones grabs at his mouth, tasting blood from the cut his teeth left in his bottom lip.

"Calvary's here." Jim braces himself with his free hand.

"That's the Enterprise?" Bones pushes at Jim to get off him. "They're firing at the planet? What are they thinking? They could get us killed."

"Warning shots, Bones." Jim manages to get his footing finally and stands up, jerking McCoy half up with him. "Distracting the natives while the rescue team sneaks in."

McCoy grabs hold of the bars to steady himself as the ground rolls again. "You've got to be kidding me," he mutters.

Jim smirks. "Told you it was a good plan."

McCoy is about to roll his eyes when the next wave hits. He manages to keep hold of the bars but he slams his shoulder into Jim's and then slams back into the bars. He's sure he looks like a ragdoll or something, flailing around in an uncontrolled arc, upright only due to his white-knuckled grip. He hits the bars again, harder and it hurts like all hell but he hears the groan from the ceiling and feels a shudder through the metal.

"Fuck," Jim says, eloquently, when the shaking subsides.

"Should warning shots really be that damned violent?" McCoy takes one hand off the bars, flexing it until the feeling returns.

"It'll be fine," Jim says. "It's not like the ceiling's gonna collapse. We're just going to have to wait it out."

"They were talking about execution when they dragged us in here," McCoy can't help but point out, because he doesn't want to have to wait too long for Spock's grand entrance.

"Yeah." Jim smiles ruefully. "I was really starting to wish the universal communicator wasn't so universal. Their executions seem pretty thorough."

"Executions usually are," McCoy mutters.

"Hey!" Jim says excitedly, dropping to his knees and making McCoy lurch wildly to one side.

"Sorry. Just. Look," Jim says before McCoy can tell him off. "The keys fell off during the shaking."

McCoy looks instinctively at the spot on the wall where the keys had been hanging. It's empty. He looks down and sees them splayed on the ground not all that far from the cell, several of the keys sticking up awkwardly from the main ring.

"Damn close," McCoy crouches down, irritation firmly pushed aside.

Jim nods, settling belly down the ground and sticking his arm out through the gap between the bars. His fingers land a bare inch or two from the keys.

"Try and get closer," McCoy urges.

"Trying," Jim snorts. He shifts around, angling his arm further in. His middle finger hits the edge of the closest key but no further. Jim grunts and then drops his forehead against the bars. "Can't reach."

McCoy sighs quietly, watching Jim pull his arm back. "I'm sure Spock—"

Jim pushes himself up and grabs at McCoy's shirt. "You try. You've got long fingers."

McCoy blinks. "What?"

Jim makes a weird face and then manhandled Bones into position. "Your arms might be longer. I'm not sure. Come on, Bones. Haven't got all day." The cell floor closest to the fallen keys is damp and Bones can feel the cold seeping through his shirts and onto his stomach. He cusses half-heartedly and sticks his arm through the gap, angling so that his shoulder's wedged firmly against the bars, fingers stretched as far as he can get them.

Almost. He can get the tips of his fingers to the bottom of the key ring but unless he manages to dislocate something, he isn't ever going to be able to drag them in. "Jim, I don't think that—"

"Yeah. New idea." There's a tone to Jim's voice that McCoy doesn't particularly like. McCoy pulls his arm back in to the cell and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees.

"Scoot over so you can use your other hand." Jim pushes at him.

McCoy moves but he can't refrain from stating the perfectly obvious. "My other hand is chained to yours, Jim."

"Yeah," Jim chuckles, pushing up against McCoy. "That's kind of the point."

McCoy lies back down, wincing at flush of water hitting his already wet shirt. Jim settles in next to him, half on top of him really, chest partly braced on McCoy's back so that they can move their hands together through the bars. Jim is a bright spot of warmth against him, all the more noticeable in contrast to the cool ground and he smells like old sweat and standing water.

McCoy's head is stuck at a terrible angle, looking behind him at the back of the cell because otherwise he's bound to crack Jim's nose on accident. He feels Jim's arm settle against his, feels the shift of Jim's fingers gathering the chain.

"Try not to move," Jim huffs, hot breath gusting over the back of McCoy's head.

McCoy doesn't even bother replying, just keeps his wrist rigid while Jim fumbles with the chain, swinging the small length of it against the ground. It makes the cuff scrape against his raw wrist and he can tell from Jim's huff that it's not too comfortable for him either. There's a second swing and a third. Jim takes a breath and shifts a little, his hip tilting into McCoy's, his breathing a steady push against McCoy's ribs.

Jim waits a few breaths, then swings again. McCoy can hear the sound of metal colliding, Jim's shoulder presses into McCoy's uncomfortably and then, "Got it. Bend your arm slowly on the count of three.   
One. Two. Three."

McCoy bends his arm slowly, careful to keep his wrist steady and to aim his hand towards the center between them. He can only bend so far until the bar starts cutting off the circulation in his upper arms and scraping even through his sleeves. But when Jim tells him to stop, he doesn't sound discouraged.

"Okay, straighten your arm back up slowly and then I can get off you," Jim says, his mouth close enough to McCoy's head that he can feel the movement of his words. "Not to say it hasn't been fun, but it's not the kind of body-on-body contact I usually aim for."

"Don't I know it," McCoy mutters and then bites his lip hard so his mouth doesn't start getting carried away with itself.

Jim chuckles, but he sounds strained. McCoy can relate.

"God, you know-" Jim cuts himself off and makes a high-pitched noise of frustration. "I have to focus, focus, focus. Okay. Arms straight and let's get out of here, Bones."

McCoy straightens his arm gingerly and then it's an overly complicated shuffle of legs and hips and arms until they've managed to crabwalk backwards from the bars.

McCoy sits up, twisting his neck from side to side to loosen the muscles. His breath is short and rushed, which is a ridiculous reaction, no matter how close Jim was. Jim snags the keys through the bars and pulls at McCoy to stand up.

McCoy gets to his feet, while Jim starts testing the keys in the lock. The first one goes in with a grating sound and won't turn. McCoy leans against the bars and watches Jim try and discard another key, which only went in halfway. The third won't go in the lock at all.

"Seven more," Jim says.

"We still have a backup plan," McCoy points out. "But if I ruined another uniform for nothing, Jim…"

Jim tries the fourth key and this one slides in without a sound. Jim looks over his shoulder at McCoy and grins.

"Get on with it," McCoy nods at the lock, trying not to grin back.

Jim turns the key and it makes a satisfying clink that's unmistakable.

That's when the door leading into the dungeon opens.

Jim scrambles with the keys, jerking them out and shoving them into the empty tricorder compartment on McCoy's belt. He barely gets compartment shut again when the guard rushes up. The man's got at least three inches on both of them and his shoulders are broad and strong. There's a long scar down one of his cheeks and he's missing at least one tooth that McCoy can see.

He narrows his eyes and aims his weapon at the center of Jim's torso. "What are you doing?

Jim held up his hands in surrender and then apparently couldn't keep himself from saying. "Trying to escape."

The guard startles at the blunt honesty, a momentary pause and McCoy takes the opening on instinct. He doesn't know exactly what comes over him - some damned primal idiot thing, he's sure - he just moves. He slams the gate open into the guard as hard as he can, making the man stumble backwards. The behemoth hits the ground, weapon skittering away and then Jim's dragging them both out of the cell so he can deliver a solid kick to the man's head. The guard's helmet slides away across the floor and his hands shoot out, grabbing at air where Jim should be.

McCoy's seen Jim fight before – a lot – and he's fought alongside him, but fighting chained to the man is a whole other thing. The guard gets halfway up and then he's down again and they're both bent over the man, delivering a series of punches in concert until, finally, the man's eyes roll up and he's out.

Jim takes two or three gulps of air and McCoy rubs at his wrist, which damn well has to be bleeding now. "Jim" he snaps.

"No more talking. Got it." Jim bends over and snags the guard's weapon off the floor. "But, you know, this isn't a half bad teambuilding exercise. Don't you already feel closer?"

"I gave you your last physical." McCoy smacks the hand next to his. "I don't think you get much closer than that."

"Okay, you need to stop hitting me." Jim takes his hand roughly, clasping their palms together.

"What are you—" McCoy tries to wrestle his hand out of Jim's grip.

"You don't want to hold my hand, Bones?" Jim gives him that fake hurt expression that had conned McCoy into any number of bad calls all through the academy.

"Not like this." McCoy rolls his eyes.

Jim loosens his grip just enough to thread their fingers together, and gives him a lopsided smirk that's giddy and dirty and Jim Kirk to the tee. "Better?"

"I'll be better when we get the hell out of here." But McCoy doesn't try to take his hand back.

In the distance came another loud rumble and the ground swayed under them. It wasn't as violent as the last time but McCoy caught a shower of dust from the ceiling. "Again?"

Jim narrows his eyes, looking at the ceiling. McCoy follows his gaze to the half dozen cracks stretching from where the cell bars were burrowed in.

"We need to get out of here now." Jim starts towards the door.

McCoy keeps pace, trying not to stumble over the rocks that litter the ground. "I seem to remember that the plan was to wait for the cavalry," he grumbles.

"The new plan is to run before the whole ceiling collapses." Jim pulls the main door open and checks the hallway.

"You said that wasn't going to happen," McCoy hisses. "You said those were warning shots."

"I lied," Jim says bluntly, pulling them out into the empty hall. "About the first one. Well, I wouldn't call it lying exactly but you'd call it lying and anyway let's just go, come on come on."

They can't be the only ones concerned about structural integrity because the halls, which had been full of people when they'd been dragged to the dungeon, were now alarmingly barren. Jim gets them to a staircase that seems familiar but the whole place is made of the same grey stone so McCoy can't be sure.

The steps are slippery, making McCoy tighten his grip on Kirk's palm and brace his free hand against the wall. Jim does the same and it's like some bizarre dance up the stairs, tucked into each other to keep from sliding. Jim's fingers flex under his but when McCoy eases his grip slightly, Jim doesn't return the favor.

"You know Vulcans kiss with their hands?" Jim asks, voice hushed.

"Yeah, I do," McCoy nods, focusing on the step in front of him. "This is the shit you think about when we're about to get executed?"

"I'm thinking about _not_ getting executed and, you know, escaping," Jim shrugs, his arm brushing along McCoy's. "And taking a hot shower when we get back to the ship because we both smell like rotting dirt. And, yeah, I'm thinking about hand-holding and Vulcan kissing and human kissing, the fact that my wrist is starting to chafe and that's just not how I like to get my chafing, thanks, and I'm still trying to figure out a way to explain slingshot effect time travel without you yelling at me."

"I'm thinking about getting killed and having you drag my body halfway around the damn castle before Spock finds you." McCoy's sweating all over and it's getting harder to keep control of his mouth. The serum's hitting his stride, he's pretty sure, and he's not looking forward to whatever he says next.

Jim tightens his hold on McCoy's arm until it hurts. "We're not getting killed and I'm not dragging your body anywhere, Bones. Have I ever let you down before?"

It almost makes him cry, the effort to not say that Jim getting himself torpedoed off the Enterprise the first go round had been pretty disappointing. Because it's what comes to mind but he doesn't _mean_ it and he'll be damned if he says it. He struggles out, "First time for everything."

"I can think of a lot better first times to have, Bones." Jim's voice goes wobbly, like he's trying to keep himself under control.

"That you want to be having with me?" McCoy snorts and that's probably it with his control. From here on out he's going to make an ass of himself and he figures he better get used to it. They reach the top of the stairs, Jim shivering next to him. They get the door open and it's another empty hallway, littered with stones that must have come from the ceiling.

Jim mutters something under his breath as he takes the lead out into the hallway, weapon at the ready.

"What?" McCoy snaps.

"I said you're an idiot," Jim snaps right back.

"An idiot," McCoy says in disbelief, anger spiking and yeah that's a side effect of the serum, he knows it is, but knowing it and being able to stop it aren't even in the same city.

"You're fucking willfully oblivious," Jim says, waving his free hand around, even as he pulls them along the corridor. "Or maybe you're just being nice. I have no fucking idea."

"You're the goddamned idiot," McCoy hisses as they approach a doorway to another hall.

"Sure," Jim says, pushing him back against the wall. "Why not? I'd have to be, right? But at least I'm fucking observant." A set of guards run past the doorway in front of them. Jim leans his head around to watch them go and then hauls McCoy down the other way.

"Observant?" McCoy can't help the laugh, or the hysterical edge to it. "You sure you're not talking about yourself, Jim? Cause I've been pretty damn obvious. You know, dragging you on that flying tin can could have cost me my career. You think I'd do that for just anybody?" And there it was, out in the open, entirely without his permission.

Jim stares at him blankly, finally blessedly speechless and McCoy figures getting caught again would fit right in with the way his day is going.

"So, um." Jim swallows visibly. "So you."

"I wouldn't mind getting caught again," McCoy's control over his own mouth is completely shot now and he's resigning himself to it well enough. "Might be an improvement."

"Hey, no. No, Bones, seriously. You have got it—"

The ground pitches under them for the first time in a half hour but it's a whole other kind of movement, a series of hard jerks that throw them to the ground followed by rolling that lasts forever, it seems like. Pebbles from the ceiling rain down on them and Jim pulls at McCoy's arm, making him crawl closer to the support beams down the middle of the corridor.

The ground settles and McCoy figures on taking a minute to get his bearings but Jim's already pulling him to his feet. "That wasn't the cavalry."

"I was afraid you'd say that." McCoy clasps their palms back together as Jim takes the lead, dropping any pretense of staying hidden in the shadows and running full out down the corridor.

The next stairwell isn't any more dry but it's got banisters on either side so they use those to half pull themselves up. When they get out the top there are people everywhere but it's complete chaos and even Jim's bright gold shirt doesn't bring anyone to a halt.

"They're evacuating," Jim says.

"Got that," McCoy replies, already pushing at Jim to follow the damn crowd. They had to know the way out better than Jim.

The hall opens out into a huge cavern, filled to the brim with panicked people and rubble and definitely some bodies. A part of Bones wants to stop and help but he knows that it's pretty well useless. Jim hits him in the chest. "Is that?"

And yeah, in the distance, amid the hordes dressed in grey and black, are several bright spots of color. Spock, Sulu, and three security guards McCoy couldn't name if his life depending on it, are running up from the other side. "Spock!" Jim shouts.

Spock spots them and there's a rushed dance around and between the natives to meet each other halfway. "Captain, Doctor, are you all right?"

"Don't worry, Spock," Jim says. "They didn't get to the fun part yet."

"I fail to see how the particular methods of torture in use on this planet could be viewed in any way as enjoyable." Spock replies evenly.

"Can we get out of here before the whole castle falls down on top of us?" McCoy snaps, his nerves frayed and his mouth a no filter zone. "I don't fancy escaping torture just to get taken out by the building."

Spock nods sharply, points down a corridor to the left. "This way."

Jim grins at McCoy and tugs him along.

 

Getting outside is easy enough after that, with the natives more interested in their own escape than stopping anyone else's. Once they've gotten out into the fresh air, Spock gets a hold of the ship and their atoms are being shot back home.

McCoy blinks at the bright white lights of the transporter room.

"Had a good holiday?" Scott asks from behind the console, grinning and looking pointedly at the space between McCoy and Jim.

Jim's still holding his hand.

Scotty comes from around the console. "Got yourselves hitched together, I see."

Jim laughs, bright and amused and probably still feeling the adrenaline rush. "Someone has to keep this guy in line."

"Sickbay." McCoy tugs Jim off the transporter pad. "Now, before we say another thing."

"You're no fun, Bones." Jim follows.

"No," McCoy agrees. "Never have been."

*

Spock and Scotty meet them in sickbay with an assortment of tools. McCoy has to keep his hand still while they work at the cuffs so Chapel runs most of the blood tests without him and comes back bearing an antidote before the wrist cuff itself has been removed.

"She's nicer about the hypospray than you are," Jim says as he hops off the bed.

"She's nicer than I am about pretty much everything." McCoy rubs at his wrist. "You need dermal regeneration on your wrist, Jim."

"I need to have a conference call with our captors first." Jim waves him off, following Spock. "I'll stop by later, Bones."

McCoy watches him go and figures out a beat too late that Jim didn't mean he'd come back to sickbay.

*  
McCoy's just out of the shower and halfway to his bed when the door chimes. He waves the door open while he's still shrugging on a t-shirt. Jim's leaning against the doorframe, still in his dirty uniform, arms folded low across his chest. "Hey."

"Didn't get enough of me today?" McCoy backs up to let Jim in.

Jim laughs, not the normal boisterous sound but something weaker, nervous. A pit of unease settles in McCoy's stomach.

"We kind of got interrupted," Jim says as the door closes behind him.

"Yeah." McCoy has no idea what to say. It's happened to him before but not often and he fumbles for a minute trying to figure out how to shrug off everything with nonchalance.

"About earlier." Jim takes an audibly deep breath and McCoy cuts him off, trying not to sound too desperate.

"We don't need to talk about it, Jim. I'd rather we didn't talk about it."

"Yeah, well," Jim smiles at him tightly. "I'd rather we did. Because you –"

"Jim"

"_ You_," Jim cut right back in, "have got it all wrong."

"Oh, do I?" McCoy bristles, he can't help it.

"You don't get it." Jim shakes his head but he's still smiling, only like he knows something McCoy doesn't. "Sneaking me on board? Changed my life. You have no idea, Bones. You got me here. You got me this ship and you did it. You just did it, you didn't ask me for anything. You risked your career. I know that. I knew that. _Bones_."

"Hey," McCoy winces. "You don't have to thank me. I didn't say that to make you feel guilty. Jesus."

Jim waves his hand. "I don't feel guilty. Bones, man, I don't feel guilty. I'm just trying to tell you. I'm trying to- -" Jim makes a frustrated sound, low in his throat and then grabs McCoy by the shirt. McCoy stills at the sudden movement, just for a second, and then Jim's in his personal space, chest to chest, one hand between them still latched onto his shirt, the other coming up behind McCoy's head, pulling him close until their lips meet.

McCoy isn't expecting it but even if he had he'd have figured on something different. He thinks 'Jim Kirk' and he comes up with aggressive self-assurance, a streak of confidence a mile wide, and the simple fact that he always seems to know exactly what he wants.

It isn't like that.

The first brush of lips is tentative, Jim's soft mouth sliding against his carefully, thoughtfully. McCoy would have guessed that if Jim'd ever do this he'd just have to hold on and hope nothing got broke in the process. Instead he has time to think, to acquiesce to the careful push of tongue, to slide his hands across Jim's waist and pull him in.

Jim gets bolder than but still gentler than McCoy would ever have guessed, his fingers curling into McCoy's hair, his other palm flattening out against McCoy's chest. McCoy settles his knuckles against the dip of Jim's back, tilts his head to get in closer, taste Jim as best he can, breathe in time with him.

Jim pulls back slowly, sucking at McCoy's bottom lip like he's not really ready to let go. McCoy opens his eyes, doesn't remember closing them, to look at him. At the flush on Jim's face and the brightness in his eyes and the expression he doesn't know yet.

"It meant as much to me as it did to you." Jim reaches over, thumbs the corner of Bones's mouth. "And you didn't even have to think about it."

"Oh, I had to think about it," Bones protests, smiling wide to soften it.

Jim leans forward again, meeting Bones halfway. "Yeah Bones, I love you too."


End file.
